Progeny
by Insomniac By Choice
Summary: God bless the children. Of all creatures on this earth or any other, surely there are no more wondrous products in His grand design.
1. God Bless

**PLANET: KAL'ON** – **LINUD LÜNDER  
BIETA CITY, BIETA**

"I'm gonna' get away from this place some day, you know."

The teenage boy looked up into the sky and said the words countless teens in sleepy little towns have said and thought throughout time immemorial. And just as everyone before him had and everyone after him would, he meant with all his heart, knew without hint of doubt, that he'd go to exotic places and do important things. He was fifteen, after all, and sure of a great many things.

From a distance, he might have been mistaken for someone much older. He didn't have a man's physique and was still trying to grow a mustache, but he wore years on him everywhere. His hair was baked and dusty, his posture sagged under some invisible, oppressive weight, and his skin was deeply tanned, already beginning to wrinkle, droop, and grow leathery. He had all of the beauty of a blown-out tire on the side of a road and none of the nobility.

His friend sat on the ground under the shade of a rare tree as the dust from the almost barren landscape whipped by and stung the little flesh their heavy clothes left exposed. Neither gave any notice to it.

The friend uncorked the large, squat bottle he'd brought with him but waited to drink from it.

"God bless ya', Justin, you was born on this planet the son of a farmer, yo' father was born on this planet the son of farmer. _His_ father was born and _died_ on this planet the son of a farmer, same as his father before him, same as every damn body far back as any body can remember. An' I say planet, but that's just bein' generous," he continued, "You know ain't none of 'em left this goddamn county, neither. You's is gonna' be a farmer just as they is. It's best just to a'cept it now an' move on. Ain't such a bad life, anyhow, that you got to go on and on about how 'you's is gonna' run far, far away,'" he mocked in a falsetto, "like you always does."

The friend took a swig of some vile brew that didn't do much in the way thirst or taste but poured a magic fire down his throat and into his belly. He was also fifteen but muscular and ruggedly handsome, possessing all the pleasurable attributes of youth. He was already shaving regularly, something that irritated the other boy to no end, and had a disarming smile that came without effort. He was attractive in manner, more so than appearance, and his romantic exploits with women even twice his age were commonly known, though he himself refused to either confirm or deny any of it, except when very drunk.

Justin scowled, an expression that made him look even older and more unattractive, but didn't look his friend in the eye. Instead, he preferred to watch the rocket that traced its way up the sky, off into the atmosphere and farther. He imagined himself in one of them, leaving to go away from this place and tour the entire galaxy, from one end to the other… but his friend kept talking.

"An then you's is gonna' get a girl pregnant, prob'ly marry her, have a couple of kids yo'self. You's is gonna' have a son that'll grow up to be a farmer, and a daughter that'll grow up to get pregnant by _and_ marry a farmer. Then you's is gonna' die here. But this ain't so bad a place to live _or_ to die. They's is worse places out there, you know."

Finally Justin gave up his delightful reverie, conceding that for the time being it had been ruined.

"No, I don't know, Dylan. That's just the point," he said, turning back around. "I ain't never been further than twenty kilometers from my own damn house. I come to town with my old man to pick somethin' up, and then I go back and help 'im on the farm. I don't wanna' spend my whole life just goin' back and forth. I don't wanna' spend my life workin' like a dog just to scrape out a livin' on some backward planet, in some backward quadrant, an' end up just another broken down geezer with nothin' to show for it."

"Hell boy, ain't nobody wanna' do that," Dylan agreed as he downed another mouthful of his drink. "If I had my choice, I'd marry some rich little thing in the Central Planets and fuck her day an' night till one of us couldn't take no more an' died. But that ain't gonna' happen, now is it? As it is, we fates is sealed. But they ain't bad fates. I hear o'er in the North Quadrant the damned trolls be bombin' they's own cities for no reason. Hell, total war is goin' on on some planets, pirates is razing cities to the ground, people killin' one 'nother over land and resources. Now tell me, who in they right mind is gonna' come out here? People have trouble makin' enough to feed theyselves. Ain't shit worth takin'. We's is secure. We's is secure, you fucker," Dylan pointed an accusatory finger at Justin, "an' I'll take secure and bored over 'citement and danger every goddamn day of the week. Nothin' gonna happen here, nothin' 'ticularly good, nothin' 'ticularly bad." Dylan took a swig and grinned. "An' nobody _from_ here gonna' do nothin' important, neither."

"Not me," the boy argued stubbornly, "I'm a-gonna' do somethin' with my life."

"Yeah, says you," Dylan laughed.

"Yeah, says me."

Dylan drank, but said nothing more. Justin felt satisfied that he'd won the exchange. They let an awkward silence hover for some time — Dylan drinking, Justin looking at nothing in particular — until someone else broke it for them.

"Come on, boy," a man called out to Dylan as he threw a sack into the back of his truck. "We's'd better be gettin' on home, lest yo' momma have my ass for messin' around in town too long again. And you's better drink the rest a' that fo' we get home, ya hear? You know she don' like it when you drink in front a' her. An' when momma ain't happy…"

"…Ain't nobody happy," Dylan finished as he got up and jumped into the back of his dad's truck next to the sack. "Later, Justin."

Dylan's father walked around to the driver's side of the truck, but before he got in, Justin started walking up toward him.

"Uh, Mister Rhodes, you seen my old man in there?" Justin asked uncomfortably. Dylan's father glanced back at Justin before facing away again.

"Well, yeah, I seen 'im. Listen boy, you's best find yo'self some place to wait fo' a while. He prob'ly gonna' be a long time comin'."

The words proved all too true. The sun had already sunk far behind the horizon when Justin's father finally came out of the same all-purpose store as Mr. Rhodes had, staggering. Unlike Dylan's father, he had nothing in his hands except a bottle half full of liquor.

"Gawddamn thieves in this town, boy, a buncha gawddamn thieves," his father slurred as he slowly made his way over to the tree Justin had been dozing under, "Did I ever tell you how—"

His father missed a step and fell on the ground hard, vomiting. Justin sighed, knowing where most of the harvest money had gone and knowing better than to say anything about it. Instead, he helped his father up and started walking them toward the truck.

"Yeah, I know. Come on Pa, I'll drive."

* * *

Three standard years passed rather quickly, and the boy named Justin grew into a man under the eyes of the local law. His appearance and mannerisms still reflected that of an eighty-year-old child, but he was eighteen, an adult now. For some time already, he'd had the responsibilities of an adult. Justin's father had injured one of his legs almost two years ago, crippling it. Only now could he walk on it again but he still couldn't put full weight on it or do any kind of manual labor. Justin had had to take over for his father and provide for his mother and two younger brothers, still too young to be of any use yet. The crops sustained them and with a little more left over that they could sell in order to buy other goods, but they were destitute. And it was up to Justin to try to do something about it since apparently no one else could.

He was currently driving into town to see what he could get with their latest harvest, though he didn't have much hope in it. Prices continued to go down even as the drought in his region continued to go on. The tralfur plant was hardy, but it still needed _some_ water to grow, and they didn't have the money for anything but what they could pull out of the ground, which wasn't much. As it was, his crop size was smaller than it should have been and sickly looking to boot. He'd take whatever offer was given to him without hesitation. Only idiots tried to haggle in Bieta.

A year ago he'd been such an idiot, and the buyer had simply sent him away without anything at all. When he'd told his father, his dad had almost killed him for it. Justin was far from the only farmer having troubles, and everyone was desperate to get some credits. The buyers knew it, too. His father had tried to help him some in the beginning, but now the old man spent all of his time drinking and gambling, bedding whores if he happened to win a few hands. Justin would give his father a little bit of money and tell him it was all he'd received for the crop, maybe his father would hit him a couple of times for not bringing back more. Then Justin would watch the useless fuck go into town and piss it all away in one way or another. Justin kept most of the money to himself because he knew he couldn't trust his mother with it, either; she'd tell his father the second he threatened her or the other boys. All she ever did was take care of those two, so Justin had to do everything. He hated it. He hated all of them. His worthless father, his spineless mother, and the two hungry mouths that contributed nothing and took everything. He was lucky his father had even brought the truck back in time for him to take it to town today.

"I'm gonna' get away from this place someday," he repeated aloud for thousandth time, almost like a ritual now. _Fuck these people_, he thought, _fuck all them_. _Someday I'm gonna' be important and rich, and all these faggots are gonna' talk about how they used to know me way back when._

Those thoughts gave him some comfort and put a smile on his face as he continued his drive. Thinking about his marvelous imaginary life far away, the trip seemed to take less time than he'd anticipated.

Just when he started thinking about how he would heroically stop a space pirate raid all by himself (and how all of the women who would show their appreciation for him) a _real_ woman walked in front of the path of his car. He mashed the brake pedal to the floorboard and nearly went through his windshield while the woman screamed and threw up her hands, dropping the bag of food she'd had. Justin was breathing heavily from shock and panic, and as he looked up he saw the woman he'd nearly hit was in much the same shape. Almost immediately, the shock wore off.

"What in the hell do you think you're doin' jumpin' out in front of my car like that?" he demanded.

"What in the hell do you think _you're_ doin' goin' through a black light like that? Cain't you see the fuckin' thing right in fronta ya, you blind bastard?" she screamed back at him before looking down at the food that had spilled out of her bag. "Do you have any idea how much all that shit fuckin' cost me you cocksuckin' prick?"

He was taken back. In this area, women swearing was common enough, but he'd never seen one do it so pissed off, and directed at him. Justin took the opportunity her question gave him to study her a little more closely.

She was closer to a girl than a woman, couldn't be older than twenty, and not bad looking at all, though her figure was considerably hidden by the practical, loose fitting desert dress common to the area. She certainly wouldn't win any real beauty contest, but hell, short of the titty magazines and a couple of the whores, she was the best looking thing he'd ever seen. And he didn't recognize her from anywhere before.

As he looked back over his shoulder, he saw that indeed he had just run a black light. It had turned back to white which meant that when he'd gone through it, there hadn't even been a blinking white light warning him it was about to change. Luckily it was getting close to evening and it was a "nothing street," so there weren't any other vehicles behind or coming at him, otherwise he would have been guilty of disrupting traffic in addition to almost committing vehicular manslaughter.

"Aw shit," he muttered after he realized she was right. "Uh, Miss, I'm mighty sorry about that. I don't know where my head was."

"Maybe if you pulled your head out your ass you'd drive better. 'Sorry' ain't gonna' bring my food back now, is it?" she said.

"Listen, I'm sorry I ruined most your food—and I know just sayin' it won't get it back," he added quickly," so if you'll let me, I'll try to make it up to you on account it was all my fault, anyhow."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"Howdaya mean by 'I'll try to make it up to you'?" she asked.

"Well, to tell you the truth I can't make no promises, but dependin' on how this here sells," he jerked a thumb toward the truckbed, "I'll try to buy you as much food as I can to replace what you lost there. I know times is tough on everyone 'round here, 'cept the Man himself, so it's only right I help ya' out much as I can. I hope it wasn't much, 'cause like I said, times is tough, and I sure as hell can't afford to pay for much. I can't afford to pay for any of it, actually," he frowned as he spoke the last sentence under his breath.

Thinking back later, he'd admit that he'd allowed his lower brain to do his thinking for him in this instance, but his opinion on how that had turned out for him would be decidedly mixed as he looked back on it periodically throughout his life.

She agreed to let him try to pay for some of the ruined food, and he told her to meet him at the all-purpose store in two hours after he finished what he had to do. After parking his truck next to the produce side and waiting in line for an hour and a half, the buyer for his tralfur paid Justin about what he'd expected, which was unfortunately still quite low. He took the measly credits he'd been paid, and with a half-hearted "thank you," headed over to the bar section of the all-purpose store.

The store stood near the center of the town of Bieta and wasn't difficult to locate. It was easily largest structure in the town and the Man who owned it was by far the wealthiest and most successful individual in the area. People like Justin's father came in from the farms surrounding the town and spent most of the money they got from their crop directly back to the store through drinks. It was no accident that the gambling section of the store stood directly beside the bar, either. Professional card players employed by the house won almost all of the gambling money going around, though it seemed no one ever caught on. Perhaps the alcohol aided in this, as well. These two methods, drinks and card games, worked well on passer-bys, too, but the whores were the main draw for travelers. Ten credits for a room for the night, fifteen for a room with a girl in it. And some of the girls actually looked pretty, especially after an evening spent at the bar.

Most everything coming in or going out of the town passed through the all-purpose store at some point. Books, clothes, tralfur, visuals, audios, and pretty much anything else a paying customer could want. The store received all of the money for things people needed to live and no matter the prices, people paid. It had no competition, after all. The rest of the town was almost insignificant. Some small houses were still legally occupied by a few people, almost all of whom were employed by the all-purpose store. An assortment of abandoned buildings, leftover from when the town's short period of rapid growth had abruptly stopped, also marked the city and gave it the appearance of being larger than it really was. People from failed farms occasionally drifted into town and squatted in some of them, but nobody wanted to stay long, not in Bieta. There were many useless roads now, nicknamed "nothing streets" because there was nothing of any worth on them, but the traffic system was still in working order all around town, something else that was sure to break to break down soon, people said.

Several times the bartender asked Justin if he wanted something, to which Justin replied no, he was waiting on someone. Unstated but obvious by his appearance was that he had no money to spend on beverages. Justin's elderly face was further lined by the weariness of a full day's work almost completed. As almost an hour ticked by, the bartender hinted not-so-subtly that if Justin _didn't_ order something fast, he'd be removed and be made to remember the store didn't appreciate non-paying customers. Justin caved in at the threat but waited a few seconds before he got up to leave, attempting to save his pride. As he did, he saw the girl come in and he found himself quite happy to see her.

"What took ya' so long?" he asked, probably sounding a bit more anxious than he'd intended. His suddenly dry throat and quickening pulse didn't do much to help him hide his excitement. From the truck he'd noticed she was pretty, but being this close to her and out of the dusty wind, the effect was much more pronounced. Her features were too soft for this place, and her blonde hair and blue eyes marked her as different, like she didn't belong here. She was exotic, and it was hard to keep from gawking. She smiled.

"I had to salvage all I could of the food you ruined. You should be happy anyways; I saved your ass some money, at least," she said as she sat down on the stool next to where he'd been. She sounded sincere, even if it was obvious to him she wasn't serious. He sat back down next to her.

"Yeah, well I appreciate that, kindly, I really do," Justin said with forced nonchalance. "Now, exactly whaddaya need so I can figure what I can pay of it."

"Crop ain't doin' real good?" she said as she tapped on bar for a drink and whispered something to the bartender.

"Hell, crop ain't never doin' _real_ good, I don't think," he answered. "That ain't the problem. Problem's that it ain't doin' good _a'tall_ these days. Shit, I'd be happy if my pa'd get off his drunk ass to help me once in a while, but that's about as likely as all us getting killed in a flood, I figure. Nah, I'm doin' okay, but I kinda figured that at eighteen I'd be off on my way to be _bein'_ somebody already, or at the very least helpin' my pa with things, 'stead of doin' it all my own self."

"That's too bad. Still, dependin' how you look at it, everything you do is helpin' you on your way to bein' somebody, ain't it?" she asked, already finishing off her first glass and tapping on the table for another as the empty one's ice clinked around.

"Damn woman, slow down. I thought you needed food. How you gonna' pay for all those?"

"I think what you mean to say is how're _you_ gonna' pay for all those," she corrected, taking a new bottle from the bartender, "I changed my mind about the food, no harm done. Ain't nothin', really. Like I told you, I saved most of it, and the rest, well, 'Why eat when you can drink?' I always say."

He watched her chug the rest of the second glass and start tapping on the table before she was even done. He'd drank plenty of times before, he remembered getting good hungover before he was ten, but he'd never actually drank at the bar before. That was the place good-for-nothing sons of bitches like his father went to drown themselves when they should have been doing real work somewhere. But watching her throw back one after another like that without worry or doubt, somehow his prejudices about the place started to just disappear, and he thought nothing more about his previous misgivings for the rest of the night. There was something charming about her, doing that like it was nothing it all. Not exactly something that made her look elegant, but it _was_ cute. He tapped on the bar for a drink of his own, but before he got anything the bartender made him pay all the credits he owed up to that point and a few more in advance.

After a while he lost count of how many beers he'd had, and there was no way he could keep count of how many the girl had finished. It took almost half an hour for them to both realize they didn't know one another's names. He introduced himself as Justin Bailey, and filled in some of the history of his life he hadn't included before. With each gulp, the willingness to share even the most ridiculous parts of his life became stronger while the words became increasingly difficult for him to get out without slurring, and probably even worse to understand. A few after that and he didn't care anymore.

He spoke at length about how he was going to become an important person someday, and how the entire galaxy would be thankful to him for the things he'd do. He was destined for _great_ things.

When he finally rambled to a finish, the girl introduced herself as Jennifer Reese (call her Jenny), just another big girl trying to make her way in this little galaxy. Her father had been a space pilot, but she'd never met him because he'd stopped seeing her mother after she'd gotten pregnant with Jenny, and she'd never seen space outside of her mother's belly since. Jenny's mom settled with her in another county until about a year ago when her mom had gotten married, then Jenny had decided come to the "big city" (they both had a laugh at that) to see if she could stay with her aunt who lived here.

Unfortunately when she'd arrived, she'd found her aunt to be in poor health and Jenny's plans had been sidetracked. A short time ago, the aunt had finally died, but all of Jenny's funds were tapped out by then, so she was kind of stuck. Eventually she'd land a job at the Store and save up enough to get a ticket back to her home or maybe even offplanet.

At that, Justin joked that if she wanted the money fast, she could always turn to whoring. Jenny threw back her head and laughed far too noisily, disturbing some of the other drunks sitting nearby. By this time they were both too far gone to care about other people or even notice that they had become annoying.

Perhaps it was the natural course of the night's events, or perhaps it was that comment. One can never know for sure why things happen they way they do, only that they do happen, and sometimes even that is in doubt. But it is certain that Jenny stood up and began moving toward the stairs to the upper rooms. She started walking backwards and beckoned Justin in a manner that would have been seductive, had she not tripped over a chair and fallen onto the floor. She started laughing and he came over to help her, asking what she was doing. She announced rather loudly that she was going up to the rooms to _fuck someone_, and if he played his cards right, he might just be that guy. She burst into laughter again, even as she had to use him to stand herself up.

"I may not have had the money to buy you food or us drinks," he answered, "but I _really_ don't have the money to pay for _that_."

He wouldn't remember saying that later, nor would he remember her response to it, but he would remember slapping down ten credits — he was just paying for a room, after all, even if he was bringing a whore with him, the manager finally decided — and starting the long, arduous journey to the second floor.

He'd consumed far too much alcohol for the night and found himself unprepared for such an encounter. Even with the rail, it was a miracle they both made it up the stairs without falling back down and breaking their necks. They eventually found a room that didn't have the sound of metallic squeaks coming from it and decided to try it. Getting the door to open was a challenge unto itself, but he succeeded, and they went inside.

Clumsily he undressed, and if he'd been aware of his surroundings he would have known Jenny was doing the same and having some of the same difficulties. He would also have noticed the horrendous conditions of the room. A careful and sober study of the bed would have found it to still be wet from the various bodily fluids of last couple or two to have occupied it, the floor crawling with small insects. The bathroom was covered in all manner of grime and dried vomit, but even if they had noticed, they probably wouldn't have minded. Before they left, both added more than their share to the mess.

He was stuck on the buttons to his shirt for several minutes before he finally got them figured out, and he was suddenly quite proud of himself. His incredible nervousness at this event was considerably dulled by his intoxication, but it was still there. His breath kept catching in his lungs and his heart continued to attempt to bang itself out of his chest. He was totally inexperienced at this type of thing; he hadn't really had a chance to touch a woman romantically, but he'd waited almost his whole life for it. This was it. This was his moment. This was the day to prove all of those masturbatory fantasies true and show what a natural stud he was, just as he knew he'd always been.

Unfortunately, he was already off to a bad start in this area. Even looking at the very attractive naked woman lying on the bed waiting for him and knowing what he planned to do to her, he found it hard to get or keep an erection. She laughed at him, something which definitely didn't make things any easier. He tried to fondle himself for a short time, doing what had worked countless times in the privacy of his own home, but got nowhere and only succeeded to amuse her more. The cruel irony was that he had always found erections to arrive far too frequently at the most inconvenient and awkward of situations. Now when he needed one most, his most dependable friend was failing him.

He gave up on it and climbed in bed with her, hoping some foreplay would help him rise to the occasion. He looked over her naked body, and started to touch her. His calloused, uncertain hands could do nothing to draw out any pleasure from her body. The next morning she'd awake to find her breasts bruised and sore, her skin scratched and raw, but all of the effort was for nothing. His fingers, mouth, and tongue were unable to awake the slightest passion in her, no matter how earnest his manipulation of her genitals was. Just the opposite, it irritated her. Frustrated, she pushed him out of the way and let her fingers do the job herself, instead. Later he would rationalize that she was as drunk as he was, if not more, so her share of his failure had to be put squarely on her own shoulders as well. At that moment, however, his shame was almost unbearable.

After ten minutes or so of this embarrassment, semi-masturbation with a failed participant-turned-observer, he did gain an erection at last. _That as big as it's gonna' get?_ she asked him, without apparent malice and the more wounding for it. He tried to ignore the comment and climbed on top of her, almost knocking the wind out of her when his knee slipped. He recovered and got himself into position, yet still he was unable to do the thing right. After much failure to find the proper spot, she cursed him in a number of colorful phrases, grabbed him, and guided him into her herself.

Oh, but all feelings of shame and apprehension disappeared as soon as he felt her squeeze him inside her. Then, he was in business, thrusting away, madly. Oh yeah, baby, oh yeah. Do you like that? Oh yeah baby, there you go. There you—

Then it was over.

Angrily and in defiance of his body, he tried to keep going, but he quickly went completely flaccid and it was no good at all. Worse, she knew it. She shoved him off her irritably and rolled to the other side of the bed to do the job he'd barely started. She made sure he was aware of this fact several times, in fact. Ashamed and defeated, he rolled to the edge of the bed, curled himself into a ball, and went to sleep.

Luckily, he wouldn't remember much of that night, the one blessing the alcohol granted him out of all of it.

* * *

Justin woke up the next morning to find several large men with sledgehammers pounding on his skull with intent to kill. Or at least that's what it felt like. He was nauseated, and the light streaming in through the window made everything worse. Dawn had finally broken and him with it. He hugged the toilet for several miserable minutes until he had nothing left to throw back up. He gathered up his clothes as quickly and quietly as he could, partly to avoid disturbing Jenny from her sleep, and mostly so he wouldn't have to face her. He snuck out the door and crept down the stairs, ignoring everyone else in the store until he got to his truck. It started up, and he headed home.

The ride jolted him many times, and didn't improve his condition or disposition. Neither did the view. Sand in every direction, unheeded even by the horizon. It traced its way up the sky like wispy brown clouds, but they would bring no comfort or rain. Justin could feel the dust suffocating his life. He'd seen the old men, been forced to visit elderly friends of the family. One day he'd find himself there, surrounded by people who felt nothing but pity for him. Wake up to find his lungs full of dirt and he'd start coughing up blood, unable to get out of bed without feeling unbearable pain. Then one day he wouldn't be able to get out of bed at all. If he stayed here... No way. No way in hell. After the previous night, he was even more determined to get off the planet for good. And everybody he left behind? Fuck 'em.


	2. The Children

**TWO MONTHS LATER**

Justin's life had been greatly changed by his last trip to town. It had gotten him laid for the first time, albeit in a way he'd rather soon forget entirely, and after returning home, his family life had been altered irrevocably.

His parents had been quite angry with him, and understandably so. He had returned home with almost none of the food or materials they'd needed, and when he'd explained the rough details of the previous night's events and what he'd spent their food money on, his case was not helped in the slightest. Justin's father had begun to yell, talking about how irresponsible it was to waste the family's money on something so selfish as that. This time, though, Justin didn't back down and their argument had quickly become physical. The kitchen was trashed and his mother shrieked at them to stop during the entire incident, which wasn't truly all that long. His father was still much larger and heavier than Justin, but Justin hadn't hesitated to target his old man's bad leg. Neither had given any particular thought to fair play. Justin had ended up with only a black eye and bloody nose to speak of, while his father had lost a tooth and couldn't walk for several days after. The fight hadn't been particularly vicious and neither could say for certain he'd won it, but that didn't matter to Justin. He was his father's equal now and someday soon he'd be his father's superior. They were on equal ground and he wasn't going to be his father's slave any longer. Finally all of the responsibilities he'd taken on received the power that went along with it. The father had checked with the _son _to see if he could take the truck into town for the day. This day, the father could not, because Justin was taking it himself.

There was little change in the seasons — always dry and dusty — meaning that tralfur could be grown all year without negative effects, so long as the fields were properly rotated. Unlike traditional farming crops, it allowed farmers to keep a much more steady income throughout the year, though the actual prices differed greatly depending on demand. Justin had harvested this cycle's crop too early this time, but his family needed the money. They were becoming poor, even by Bieta standards. Last time Justin had wasted money they'd needed, but he felt no guilt for it. He rationalized that his father had done the same thing far too many times before, so it was only fair that he do it himself — once.

He managed to get through town without going through any black lights or running anyone over, so he considered it a success. He parked the truck and went inside to sell his crop, then received poor money for poor quality, but Justin wasn't going to spend any of it this time on anything but necessities.

He started going through the store to pick up what his family needed back home. Their clothes were of poor value, but his mother mended them well enough and anything new was a luxury anyway. Hmm. He browsed the food section for half an hour carefully checking to see what he could get for the least amount of money. They could probably use a bag of flour, assuming it was still priced low enough. It wasn't. Rice would fill them up and a lot could go a long way. More importantly it was in their price range. As he picked a sack of it up and slung it over his shoulder, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Justin, we gotta' talk," Jenny said quietly as she walked up next to him.

"We ain't got nothin' to talk about, woman. Not a damn thing," he said, keeping his shoulder to her and moving on.

"Yeah, we do. Justin, I…" she sighed and then just blurted it out, "I'm pregnant."

"You're what?" he nearly screamed as he dropped the sack of rice to the floor, his outburst drawing the attention of nearly everyone else in the store. Justin looked around, then grabbed her by the arm and led her over to a far corner out of the way and out of public eye.

"Just what in the hell do you mean 'I'm pregnant'? " he demanded in a harsh whisper.

"What in the hell else do you _think_ I mean?" she hissed back at him. "You may not have been able to do anything right that night, but I'll be damned if you wasn't able to get me knocked up. Your boys must be real strong swimmers or somethin', 'cause you sure didn't give 'em no help."

"Hmph, you're one to talk. I was the one who had to do all the work while you just laid there like a dead fish or somethin'. 'Course that _would_ explain the stink, you smelly bitch. I was lucky not to blow chunks while I was down there on you, you know."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You're a real piece a' work, you are. Just my luck to get pregnant by a stupid, worthless bastard like you."

"Yeah, I guess you was that lucky, and I was just lucky enough to get my life ruined by a such a _lovely_ girl like yourself," he said before he paused for a moment. "Wait just one second. That was over two months ago, me and you. You even sure the thing is mine?" The last word in the sentence was left unsaid, but they both heard it: _whore_.

"Hell yeah I'm sure it's yours," she answered. "I don't spread my legs for just anybody."

"Sure fooled me," he muttered.

"You son of a bitch—"

"Who you talkin' to? Me, or that kid inside you?" he asked. He'd struck the nerve he'd intended. She began to shake and sputter, turning red.

"Fuck you. You're a good for nothin', piece of shit, _small peckered_, little man! 'Save the galaxy' my ass. You ain't never go be nothin', and you ain't never gonna' go nowhere, and you don't deserve no better, neither. Now, I didn't plan on getting' pregnant, but you done this to me, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you just walk away from this!

"You listen here," she ordered, jabbing a finger into his chest, "my own ma got left by my pa after he got her pregnant, but I ain't gonna' let you pull that shit on me. You gonna' marry me and take care of this baby, and if you try an' run off, I'm gonna' track you down and nail your dick on the wall so my kid can know where he came from."

"Is that right?"

"That's right."

"Well, you know what? Fuck _you_. Yeah, fuck you, fuck that kid, and fuck your goddamn sob-story, cause I don't want nothin' to do with any of it. You don't want that thing inside you, get a damn abortion and get rid of both our problems," Justin said. "I had a bad appendix once when I was little; I don't see how this is any diff'rent."

"It's diff'rent to me, alright? And you know I ain't got the money for something that, and neither do you. Not that you _would_ anyway, you cheap asshole," she said, the last part as though under her breath, but loud enough to hear.

"Cheap asshole, huh? I'll tell you what, I pay for it right here and now," Justin said turning to push aside some shirts on a rack. "I mean whaddaya figure a fuckin' clothes hanger go for these days? Two credits? Three?"

"You're a goddamned monster. Why don't you go stick a piece a' wire up your piss hole, you sadistic bastard?"

"Fine, fine. You're right. It'd be a waste of money for the hanger anyhow. Shit woman, how much does a flight a' stairs cost? I don't mind pushin' you down if you ain't got—"

Before he could say the next word, Jenny drew back and punched him in the nose. His eyes began to water, and for a second he thought his nose was broken. But he didn't think about it for long. A pain exploded in his groin and he gasped, clutched himself, and sank to his knees. He felt nausea from the pain, and the blood continued to gush from his nose.

"I'm surprised you even felt that. Guess I'm a good shot," she said, adding insult to injury. "Now you listen here, I'm gonna' have this baby and you's gonna' help me raise it, you hear?"

He nodded, feebly.

"Good. Now I'm gonna' go home, and we's is gonna' talk more about this later. Next time you's is in town, you call me at extension 15, and we'll take care a' this."

He couldn't concentrate enough to notice her go, but when he was sure she was gone he fell over on his side, stuck his hand down his pants, and, ignoring all onlookers, began to massage his sore genitals, no pride left to salvage.

"Stupid bitch."

* * *

Justin limped his way out of the all-purpose store, moving as gingerly as possible for the sake of every part of him. He felt the need to get away from the witnesses in the store and recoup and think. As he made it outside, he ran into yet another person he'd hoped not to see.

"Justin!" Dylan said enthusiastically as he slapped Justin on the back, before noticing his friend's bloody nose. "Hell boy, you don't look so good. What happened to you? You lose a fight or somethin'?" he said, standing on his toes to look behind his friend.

"I don't wanna' talk about it," Justin said, as he watched Jennifer Reese walking several blocks away from the store. Dylan followed the other's eyes, then noticed Justin holding his groin.

"Ha ha, women, eh? 'Xactly what'd you say to get her pissed enough ta' do all that?"

Justin explained the situation, the pregnancy, and his initial reaction to it. He left out the part about her punching him in the nose and smashing his nuts.

"I can't stand that woman," Justin said, finally.

"Well, you wouldn't be in this sit'iation now unless you _standed_ her just fine before, now would ya'?" Dylan laughed.

"Nah, not even then."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I was a bit inebr'ated at the time so I can't remember much, but things didn't go 'xactly as I hoped they would. It didn't even feel that good, really. Kinda hoped my first time would go a little bit smoother, ya know? Don't help that she's a royal cunt, neither."

"Look, first a' all, you know I been 'round the block in that department for a little while now, and I can tell you there ain't no time anything's gone ''xactly as I hoped they would' with me, alright? Short of the jerk off flicks on the visual, I don't know a' no one who ever had things go off without a hitch. Course you ain't gettin' outta' this mess without gettin' hitched yourself, is you? 'You're what!?' " Dylan mimicked with a laugh. "The tradish'nal Bieta marriage proposal, yassir.

"Hey," Dylan continued, "it was yo' first time, so don't be so hard on yourself. First time I was with a woman, we had to wait for another hour on account a' I blew a load in my pants 'fore we even got started. Bein' a virgin's tough sure 'nough; losin' it just may be tougher. 'Course, way I figure things, your hand's been taking your virginity for years now, hadn't it? If all sex is to you is gettin' yourself off, grab a magazine and a tissue and have at it, says me. But if you's is doin' things right, it don't get better than makin' love to a woman. I says that, too."

"Ah hell, please don't tell me this shit now, Dylan," Justin said as he limped his way over to a bench and sat down. "I don't need it or any more a' your know-it-all lectures, as a matter a' fact. I'm still tryin' to get used to this idea a' bein' a father, alright? I don't need this crap, at all. I was finally startin' to work things out for my own self, and finally startin' to figure out a way to get off this damn planet, but now…"

"Now you's is _stuck_."

"'Xactly. It ain't like I really hate Jenny or what's inside her, but damn it, once she has that kid, _my_ kid, that's it for me. I ain't gonna' be the kinda sumbitch to just run off on his woman and leave her to fend for herself; that just ain't right, 'specially on a place like this, but I ain't gonna be happy here. I can't be. I'm gonna' hate this place and hate the both a' them for what they done to me. I fuckin' hate kids."

"Even yo' brothers?"

"'Specially my brothers. Always gotta' hear about how I got ta' be nice around the children. Don't talk that way around the children. Help clean up the children. _Fuck that_. I don't got what it takes to be a good father, anyway. I's too young for it, I reckon, but I just don't know if I could ever be 'sponsible for another person like that. It's just too much pressure for somebody like me to take right now. But what other choice've I got?"

"Learn to play them cards you's been dealt," Dylan answered, bluntly. "Just a'cept what I been tellin' you, _an' tellin' you_, for years. You ain't goin' nowhere. Why you ain't a'cepted it by now is beyond me. Why you ain't realized that by now is, too."

"I ain't 'realized' that 'cause I _ain't_ stayin' here. And I ain't stayin' here because nobody can ever get ahead here, and that's really all I wanna' do with my life: get ahead. It don't matter how good or bad the crop is, the Man changes 'is prices all the damn time to match 'em. On that rare 'casion we got us a good crop, the Man raise his prices. He owns the only store; he can do whatever the hell he wants and he knows it. He follows what's goin' on; he knows them prices better'an the farmers and how much money they got to spend. If things is bad, why he lowers them prices back down so people can afford to pay him, and they think he's a saint for it. He ain't. He just wants his money, and he knows dead people can't afford to pay nothin', and the live ones got no other choice but to buy from him. He bleedin' us all dry, all right, but slow like, so he can get as much as he can out us, before we gone for good." He looked back at Dylan. "That's why I'm gettin' out of this place. I don't wanna' get bled dry. I just want a chance to get ahead."

"Ha ha, you's is always lookin' at things the wrong way, man," Dylan laughed. "In the end, ain't none of us gonna' get out of life ahead; whether we be rich or po', young or old, it ain't gonna' matter none. No, way I sees it, in the end, best any us can manage is to break even. And 'ventually, I figure we all manage _that_, one way or a'nother. It all gonna' even out"

"Look at you now, some big philsopher or somethin', tellin' other people how they oughta live. Well, maybe you can be happy, livin' here the way you're gonna', but I can't, all right? I just can't do it."

"Look, now this might be a bad idea," Dylan said, looking behind both shoulders, "but I know a way you can get offa' this here planet and away from your soon-to-be-wife without bein' thought of as a worthless scoundrel. I know you's ain't never been outside a' this here county, but over in Glyndale I hear they's got a recruiting station for the Mechanized Infantry in the center a' the town. It ain't permanent, but it should be there for the next week or so. You sign up there, you'll get offa' this planet and go places ain't none of us even heard of 'round here."

"And Jenny?"

"Ah, she'll still have ta' fend for her own self, but if you send back part yo' monthly stipend, I reckon that should support her just fine. I mean, a _guaranteed_ thousand credits a month, why that's just as good or better 'n most anyone's makin' now. You enlist and get them papers to prove it, you's can get a loan to buy a house an' a plot a' land from pretty much anyone. Ain't no money surer than guv'ment money, that's what they say."

"Hell, that's not a half bad idea. I might just try that," Justin mused.

"Yeah, sure man, whatever. I don't know that it's the best idea to leave yo' woman by her self on a planet for a couple a' years," Dylan said, frowning. He shrugged, "But hey, it's yo' life."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I's just sayin', woman's got needs, too, 'specially a woman like _that_. She starts gettin' lonely, her lil' eyes start to wander," Dylan said suggestively as he shifted his eyes back and forth, "and you may just find yourself married to the best little whore on Kal'on."

"Hmm. You may be right. I mean, shit, I don't love her or nothin' so I don't really care what she does, but how would it look on me if she was jumpin' on every cock that came near the house?"

"Wouldn't look good a'tall, I don't imagine. Then again, I'm the jealous sort."

"I can't be doin' nothin' about it if I'm a couple million kilometers away. Hmm. You think you could check up on her for me?" Justin said asked tentatively, "Maybe I could send you back some a' that check as payment."

"Aw hell, that's mighty generous of you. I'd a' done it for free, but now that you made the offer…"

"Yeah, yeah, I can't take it back. So you promise you'll do this for me?"

"Justin, I promise, ain't gonna' let no man touch yo' woman short of a handshake 'til you's get back."

"You always been a good friend to me, Dylan, you know that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

* * *

And so after giving himself some time to recover, Justin Bailey went back inside and paid for two bags of rice, ignoring the snickers and smirks of the men inside as he did it. He didn't care. He knew he was going places, and those sons of bitches were just going to waste away. He drove home, not truly happy, but somewhat relieved to finally have a clear plan for his life. He was going to leave his home and family and never look back. He would marry Jenny, then enlist in the Federation military and not have to deal with her or the child for the next five years or so. It made perfect sense, and it worked out for everyone.

The next morning, he woke up early so he could take care of most of the day's chores in time to get to the recruitment office. By noon he'd finished everything that couldn't wait, and he drove over to Glyndale County. As near as it was, only 75 kilometers, Justin had never been there. Though Glyndale City was no larger than Bieta, he got lost several times before he reached his destination, due in no small part to the poor directions he'd received. But he did indeed make it. Justin had expected a line going around the block full of young men taking this opportunity, but instead there was just an empty street and a humble little shop with black tinted windows. Had the words "Mechanized Infantry" not been stretching across one of the windows, Justin would have thought he was in the wrong place.

Even so, he entered cautiously. Perhaps Dylan had been wrong and the sign-ups were already over. Maybe the Federation had already moved on. The building was empty except for a muscular, middle-aged man in a simple uniform sitting at a plain wood desk. The military man was very dark skinned with close-cropped, balding gray hair and a thin, pale scar stretching from his right cheek to his ear. The man seemed out of place in an office. An oscillating fan sat on the desk humming softly as the man looked over a small stack of papers and placed each sheet to the side. He looked up from his desk with a disinterested expression on his face, apparently waiting for Justin to say something.

"Uh, this here the place to enlist in the Mechanized Infantry?" Justin asked, stupidly.

"Why yes, son, it is," the man said neutrally.

"Uh… can I join up?"

"I don't know. Can you?"

"Sir, I don't want to be disrespectful or nothin'," Justin tried to keep his anger from crawling from his belly into his throat, "but it don't look like you got a whole lot a' people interested right about now, and I am. I'm one a' the few who'd like to sign up, and if you'll just be kind enough to show me where, I'll make my mark."

"Well, I have the documents right here, son," the Federation man said as he pulled a simple sheet of paper out of one of his desk drawer, "but I don't know how much good they'd do you. You see, by law a volunteer has to be able to read it himself and sign his own name in order for his enlistment to mean anything. If not, it's just a worthless scrap of paper. Perhaps that's one of the reasons the pickings are scarce on this planet."

"Sir, I don't know who you been talkin' to, but there's a lotta' people here who can read an' write as good as anybody. Now, I know in some places y'all talk kinda funny and proper so you think we's is stupid for bein' relaxed, but that don't mean we ain't smart."

" 'Ain't smart,' " the man echoed contemptuously before going on. "Well, perhaps, perhaps not, but if you say you know how to read and write, that's very good. Read over this, and if you still find yourself willing to the agreement, sign your name."

The man handed Justin the form and Justin began reading over it.

_I, the undersigned, hereby swear to report for a physical examination to be performed by a trained Federation doctor no less than three days and no more than seven days from the date on the present document, to determine my fitness to serve the Galactic Federation and its citizens. If accepted by my government, I do solemnly affirm that I shall protect and defend the Interterrestrial Treatise of 2001 against all enemies, foreign or domestic; that I shall be faithful and true to the principles espoused in said document; that I shall follow all orders of those officers appointed above me without question, according to the Code of Federation Military Justice; that I shall remain bound in said service for the next five Standard Years, as defined by the Interterrestrial Standardization Act of 2015, unless otherwise discharged by my government before such time. I swear that I am willing to put my body in the line of fire, suffer pains and wounds of temporary or permanent nature, and lay down my very life to defend the lives and freedoms of my fellow citizens. _

(_signature_)_x

Justin had more problems reading though it than he'd thought he would, but didn't want to give the military man the satisfaction of letting him know that. Justin also had no idea what the "Interterrestrial Treatise of 2001" or "Interterrestrial Standardization Act of 2015" were, but he didn't want to ask something like that. It probably wasn't important anyway. He signed with little thought, and even though he wasn't the best of spellers, he could get through his name just fine.

"Okay son," the military man began, "now that you've signed that, you understand that we don't want to see you until at _least_ three days from now. We want you to go home and think about what you've done, really think about it. Talk with your family about this decision, and see if you want to change your mind. If you do, and you think that this just isn't for you—and believe me, it isn't for everyone—then don't worry about coming back by the end of the week. I've been doing this recruiting nonsense here and on other planets for almost four standards, and only about half of the volunteers ever come back like they're supposed to. You know what we do to the other half that doesn't?" the man asked, as if he was about to reveal a vital secret. "We throw away their documents and pretend they never even came in. That's it.

"It's your life so I really don't care what you decide," he went on, "but from me to you, on something like this, you have to be sure about it. If you have any doubts about this whatsoever, do _not_ join up. No matter how bad you think you have things right now, _there's_ _nothing worse than going into the Infantry half-assed_. You got me? You can half-ass a lot of things in this life, but the Infantry isn't one of them."

"Sir, I don't really need no three days to take care a' things 'cause I'm sure as can be, and I really don't care what my family has to say about it. I'm gettin' away from this shit hole no matter what it takes, and that's a fact."

"Look, son, I'm going to tell you something right now that I wish someone would have told me a long time ago. Out of everything you could accomplish in life, none of it is more important than family. If you fill your life with money, success, and experiences but don't have family and loved ones, it won't mean anything. Without someone to share your life with, without someone to experience your triumphs and failures with you, all you'll end up with is misery. As bad as you think this 'shit hole' is, I can tell you there are many places worse out there. If you do join up, you'll likely see many of them. But it doesn't really matter _where_ you live. What matters is _how_ you live." The man stopped and restudied Justin's face, then smiled. "But then you don't really care about what I have to say, do you? To you, I'm just some foolish old man at a desk who talks too much. That's okay. Maybe one day you'll think back to this conversation and agree with that old man, or maybe you'll prove him wrong. I don't know, and I don't really care. But your mind is made up, and I can tell it won't be changed. So get out of here. Leave. I know I'll see you in a couple of days. But I hope I won't."

* * *

Justin left the recruitment office and returned home as he'd been told. He informed his mother that he was going to be a father himself, something she took far better than he would have expected. His mother smiled sadly and said she was sorry he had to become a father so soon but that she was sure he'd make a fine one and raise a fine child. Then Justin told her of his other news. He was going to give the next five years of his life to the Federation military. That, she didn't take so well. When he left the house again several hours later, she still hadn't quit crying. Justin never asked where his own father was.

Justin then drove into Bieta, contacted Jenny, and told her to meet him at the all-purpose store for a license. Amazingly, they managed to sign all of the necessary forms without getting into an argument. He didn't inform her of his plans to join the military just yet. No reason to push his luck. They gave one another a ceremonial kiss, then she was on her way, and he was on his, trying to get a loan to buy some property. It didn't take much. As Dylan had predicted, the bank teller's eyes lit up when he saw the copy of the enlistment form Justin had taken with him. Justin got a loan for six thousand credits and bought a five square kilometer plot of land for five thousand, then contracted a building company to build a house on that land with the thousand he had left. There was only one company who did it anymore. Once there had been dozens of such companies, each working non-stop to expand the city and provide living quarters for the newly arriving farmers. After the economic bust of the area, one by one they had shut down until now there was only one company left, a family that farmed when it wasn't getting any business, which was the norm. They worked anywhere for almost anything; everyone needed extra money. The price of the overvalued land more than made up for the cheap builders. There was plenty of unused land to be had, but the government owned the planet and hadn't paid enough attention to the economic situation to adjust prices to more affordable levels for its citizens. But none of that mattered now. The land was his, and the government would be paying for him to buy it all anyway. His home would have an official number, an address, and his wife would have a place to collect his money for their child.

All forms and documents relating to these things he left with his wife; it would be her problem to take care of. Meanwhile Justin needed only to finish tying up loose ends.

* * *

**SIX DAYS LATER**  
**ZANDA SPACEPORT**

A teenage boy looked up at the craft that would be taking him into space, and could feel nothing but awe. His heart pounded at the sight, feelings of joy welled in his heart. He had watched the vessel from afar so many times before, poured all his hopes into the object countless times, and yet here it was before him now. He was speechless for many moments until the words finally found him.

"I'm gonna' get away from this place today, you know."

"_Shit_ _yeah_, I knows Justin," his friend said with a loud laugh, slapping him on the back. "You done proved me wrong finally, but ya' don't have ta rub my nose in it. Still, I 'magine I had just a little bit ta' do with that, now didn't I?"

"Yeah, I figure you did. And with you watchin' Jenny and helpin' her out while I'm gone, I'm sure everything'll be just fine 'til I get back. So thanks. Thanks, and don't think I won't repay you in full for everything you done for me and're gonna' do," Justin said as he grabbed Dylan's hand and gave it a shake.

"Think nothin' of it, man," Dylan said, shaking back, "You's is like a brother to me. What else could I do?"

* * *

Minutes later he was in the sky, being pressed back against his seat, feeling as if the very fabric of the universe was being ripped apart. Justin was afraid for his life but as he looked around at the others in the shuttle, they did not cry out in fear, so he tried to do the same. Instead of thinking about what was going on, he put his thoughts to what he was leaving behind, the world of dust and despair. He could never return to his home with his mother and father again, but Justin didn't really want to or care anymore. His bitch of a wife might have gotten used to the idea that he was going to be out of her life for five years by now, but she hadn't liked it very much when she'd told him. Probably would have, if she'd thought about it. Whore.

The jolting ride was forefront in Justin's mind again. He thought of something more recent.

He'd been afraid he was going to fail his physical. Knowing what he knew now, he realized how silly that was. He'd been asked, "Can you hear me?" to which he'd of course responded, "Yes." Then he'd been asked, "Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?" to which he'd responded, "Yes." Lastly he'd been asked, "Do you have any kind of mental deficiency that severely impairs your ability to perform simple tasks?" to which he had answered, "None. Well, none I know of." Then he'd been given a sheet of paper and told to go on. Seeing the look of amazement on Justin's face, the doctor had explained that everyone passed his physical. The Federation military had a position for everyone, even the blind, deaf, and mental deficient. Had Justin been more inquisitive, the doctor could have informed him that due to the large number of species applying for Federation military positions, any type of specific physical guidelines would automatically reject entire races and thereby disenfranchise large segments of the population. But then Justin was never an inquisitive person. He'd merely taken the plain uniform and basic supplies he'd been issued, amazed at their quality, and gone out to look at the ship before he'd gotten on it.

Finally the journey out of the atmosphere was completed, and he allowed himself back into the present. Unfortunately, Justin's sense of fear was quickly replaced with one of nausea. He vomited in spite of all attempts to stop himself, but noticed that several other passengers had done the same, so he felt little shame. Justin pushed the floating bits of semi-digested food out of his way and looked out the window at the ever-shrinking ball of dust behind him. He gave the single finger salute to everyone still on that pathetic shit hole and smiled.

Bastards.


	3. Of All Creatures

**FEDERAL PLATFORM TENGA  
MECHANIZED INFANTRY STATION**

As soon as Justin reached his destination, his training began. A handful of angry, vocal sergeants verbally assaulted him, along with the several thousand other new recruits, herding them out of their separate transports and into a single, huddled mass of confusion in the previously empty hangar floor. Justin stood with the crowd, erratically doing one thing, then another, as he attempted in vain to follow the contradictory instructions of the yelling sergeants. Everyone else was behaving the same, a mob of independently acting individuals. The result was an intentional one, an example for the recruits to look back on later as stark contrast to the well-trained soldiers would become by the end of their training. Thus, the chaos was allowed to continue for several more minutes before an officer — a colonel — finally arrived to settle things down and begin the formal indoctrination. As the colonel stood in front of the assembly, the sergeants struck up harmonious commands and the recruits fell silent, doing their best to stand at attention.

"Gentlemen," the colonel began, "You have all volunteered for Federal service and that is certainly most admirable. More importantly, however, you have all come through on your commitment and arrived here today. For that, I commend you. The Mechanized Infantry is an elite group in the Federal service and should you complete your training, you will become a part of that group. It will not be easy and many of you will give up before that can happen. Some of you will be seriously injured or die before your goal can be realized. Sadly, this is only natural, in fact _unavoidable_, considering the nature of our service. But for those of you who do complete your training, it _will_ be worth it, I guarantee you.

"There is no occupation more valuable to the Galactic Federation than the Mechanized Infantry. At any given moment there are twenty to thirty thousand large-scale military operations taking place somewhere in the Federation, and an innumerable number of smaller engagements. Contrary to what you may believe, the Federation is not at peace and has not been since its beginning. It was formed _in_ war, _by_ war, and it is perpetually _at_ war, a war that will never, and can never end. What this means is that the Federation will always have a place for the Mechanized Infantry and the Mechanized Infantry will always have a place to put you. Where that place is, doesn't matter; you will be ready for it because we will make you ready for it. The Mechanized Infantry will train you for any situation in any environment no matter the conditions. You will not fail because we will not let you fail us. But you will still be in danger.

"You will be going to war," the colonel continued. "You will be going to a place where you will be expected to kill and protect yourself from being killed. The tools of war constantly change but for a soldier, war itself will always come down to these two aspects. You will be able to succeed at both when the time comes because, as I said, we will not allow you to be unprepared. For now, our sergeants will sort you out and assign which buildings at which you will stay."

He started to turn away, but seemed to remember something at that moment, and turned back.

"But allow me to say one other thing for those of you who might hail from isolated sections of this fine galaxy we call home. The Galactic Federation has many faults, all of them the fault of its citizens. In the Mechanized Infantry, there are no citizens, only soldiers, and therefore there will be no faults. If as a citizen you had prejudices against other races, then that is fine. Citizens are allowed the luxury of bigotry and isolation. Soldiers, however, are not. Though the MI intentionally planned it that everyone here would be Human and you will most likely be part of an all-Human squad in training and actual service, that does not mean you will not regularly meet and work alongside other races. You aren't required to love them, but you _are_ required to be tolerant and respectful of your brothers in the service. This rule is strictly enforced, if not by the MI then it will be by the laws of nature. Keep that in mind. That is all."

The officer left and the recruits were organized shortly after, a process that was both simple and elegant in its execution. Justin was issued a number, sent to his assigned barracks to sleep in his assigned bunk with his assigned number at the foot of it, the nine-digit number that had become his new name. The only thing to distinguish his bunk — in the eyes of the Mechanized Infantry, his identity — from the 511 other ones just like it, was that nine-digit number. The first day it took him almost ten minutes to find his bunk. Between the confusion and novelty of the situation, it was a miracle it didn't take longer. For the first week, he needed the number to locate it and it required almost five minutes to do so. The second week, he found himself wandering throughout the barracks aimlessly until he finally broke out of his daze and discovered himself standing in front of his proper bunk, trying to remember how he'd done it. By the third, he thought nothing of it because most of the day had become a daze; his body functioned automatically while his mind was preoccupied elsewhere.

Most everything else Justin learned followed this pattern, though some things took slightly longer to adjust to and other things shorter. But for the first week — and especially that first day — when everything was new, he didn't think that he would ever be able to do anything right. Every task required intense concentration and often resulted in absolute failure in spite of it. He was told how to do something or what to do and just a few minutes later he couldn't remember it. The second day, he was sure that his mind had forgotten everything it had learned in the first, and perhaps it had. Perhaps his brain remembered none of it, but then it didn't really have to. It was his body's responsibility to do all of the remembering for him, muscles too impatient to involve the higher brain and its synapses.

Learning the standard issue rifle was one of the things Justin was sure he would never be able to master, but after a few weeks he could fire his rifle on one mode, switch out the ammunition to another, and fire again, all in less than two seconds, even if he _was_ still having problems hitting the middle of target. It didn't really matter, though. Rifle work was mainly about getting down the fundamentals of live ammunition before the recruits suited up and had to move around in the various models of powered exoskeletons. Assault rifles were like popguns compared to those but a necessary part of the progression from civilian to walking arsenal, nonetheless.

Many different facets of warfare and combat techniques were being taught to him, and Justin wasn't exceptional at any of them yet. Likely, he never would be. But he was competent and — as his instructors drove into his head on a daily basis — one hundred competent soldiers working together were superior to the same number of elite soldiers acting independently. There were a few of those elite type in Justin's barracks, too, though. They were guys born to kill, with the temperament and abilities required for such an occupation. They weren't sadistic, didn't enjoy murder, but they were a different creature altogether from the normal recruits. In any other setting you might not know it, but here they were set apart as clearly as any division in nature. For these, this was an occupation in which they could thrive; it was their reason for existence.

For Justin and the rest of the recruits this was an occupation in which they could do, and at least in his case, a young man who knew he couldn't do much at all, that was good enough. He was average at being a soldier and didn't distinguish himself with failures or successes. He simply existed. But he had finally found his place in the galaxy, a place he could enjoy and belong. Despite his difficulties and the intentional difficulty of the training, Justin had never felt the temptation to drop out. Getting sent home was worse than anything that might happen here. His superiors yelled at him and punished him when he screwed up, but they were fair about it and only did it when he deserved it, more than he could say about his father. They appreciated his positive attitude, too, Justin figured, even if they weren't allowed to show it. Besides, he was well fed and clothed. The physical work he did was no more difficult than working all day under Kal'on's sun, and thanks to the nutrition provided and exertion regime required, he was actually getting into pretty good shape. Perhaps most importantly, there wasn't anyone or thing here he had to worry about taking care of except himself.

The only thing he really lacked was friends, but Dylan was pretty much the only friend he'd had on Kal'on so he was used to it. And he wasn't _dis_liked. People gave him a hard time about his terrestrial dialect, and he couldn't speak for more than a sentence or two without someone saying, "Huh?", but that was often his own reaction to what they said. A few of the other boys in his squad were terrestrials, too, but they were from fully integrated planets and no one ever had a problem understanding _them_, leaving Justin pretty much left on his own. Thus, he spent the little personal time allotted by the Mechanize Infantry trying to catch up on his technological ignorance. He was behind most everyone else in this, but nothing they'd done had really exposed that yet. In fact, the only thing he was _more_ ignorant about was other races, something he'd heard about before but only in the abstract; he'd never had a chance to actually meet another sentient species.

Justin didn't know why he'd never met another sentient species, he just hadn't. Of all creatures on Kal'on, both native and those brought by colonists, there just weren't any non-Human species considered citizens, or anything close for that matter. He didn't think poorly of any of other races, he just think about them period. But everyone expected him to be a superiorist anyway. Maybe he was and just didn't know it yet. Even now on the platform he didn't interact with non-Humans much. When he did, it was only for a moment and the interactions were always eventful for their strangeness to him.

Justin had actually stopped and stared the first time a Masul had walked by him on its way to the mess hall. It was about half as tall as he was and twice as wide, spines everywhere its skin was exposed. Later when he'd asked one of the other recruits in his barracks what the thing was, they'd all laughed and eventually told him. A Masul was just another citizen species in the Federation, they'd said, generally hard, capable workers, but not all that bright. Then someone had remarked that Justin had a lot in common with them. Everyone had had another good laugh and Justin had laughed a long with them. What else could he do?

It wasn't a great life, but it was an acceptable one. For Justin, that was reason enough to stay around.

* * *

**SIX WEEKS LATER**

It had been twenty-two days since they'd started training in the full exoskeletons, so Justin was comfortable with all of the normal maneuvers and functions by now, only tripped up when something out of the ordinary was called for. Thanks to the suit's gyroscope and automatically correcting A.I., "tripping up" was only a turn of phrase. There were a million things the suits could do, wonders of technology that they were. Everyone else considered the training suits to be low quality and outdated, but Justin was absolutely amazed by their abilities. The strength, the speed, the agility — all relatively limited and without of any activated weapons, but for Justin, just being in the mobile tank gave him a feeling of indescribable potency. The only thing that really detracted from this feeling were the full-service catheters that had to be connected for long-range assignments (and therefore all training), but with time and some local numbing agents, one got accustomed even to those.

The suit was enormous, basically a tank that was bipedal instead of running on treads, standing three and a half meters tall. Black with accents of dark blue, each arm terminated in weapon: the left, a wide-barreled cannon that discharged highly energized gas; the right, a rifle for large caliber solid ammunition, discharged in one or three-round bursts. Neither had any capability to fire right now, and all missile slots were left empty. Justin hadn't had an opportunity to fire the missiles at the firing range yet, and he wouldn't get to have live ammo anywhere else for a while yet.

Another eleven recruits were in the testing grounds with him, though spread out as much as possible across the wide, gray room. Except for the drill sergeant giving orders and corrections as necessary over the audio, Justin might have been alone. But even hearing the commands in his ear, he wasn't really listening.

He responded as he was supposed to, but his body did that on its own leaving him free to busy his mind with whatever he liked. He wasn't really driving the suit, he was living in it, like some hidden part of his genes had been awakened and for the first time in his life, he was fully alive. Yes, that's what the powered exoskeletons made him feel like every time he got inside one. The leg suits and personal armor were impressive, but there was something about being encased in armor like this that those just didn't provide, firepower and increased protection notwithstanding. It separated him from the rest of the world, made him feel invulnerable. He threw himself into mastering it, but just like everything else, he hadn't shown himself to be extraordinary. But that didn't dim his enthusiasm. It increased it. Only a few in the Mechanized Infantry actually used the full powered exoskeletons, or FPEs, because they were just so damn big and powerful. Even top of the line FPEs were too large and imprecise to operate en masse in most populated areas without destroying everything and during a lot of operations, the MI wanted the combat areas preserved as much as possible or else they'd just bomb them from orbit. FPEs were still utilized in almost every operation, but most of the infantrymen were stuck with just leg suits that augmented speed, and body armor stressing flexibility over protection. No matter how supposedly useful they were to the MI, Justin didn't want to be one of those guys. He wouldn't be.

"Private Bailey," the sergeant snapped in Justin's ear. The recruits were now worthy of being referred to by name. Progress, in its way.

"Sir," Justin responded after a moment's hesitation. He had no idea what he'd been doing, much less what he'd been doing wrong.

"You're moving too close to Private Warner. Stay in your area."

"Yassir."

Justin checked his blips and moved back toward the center of where he was supposed to be. He became aware of the exercises he was doing (running, jumping, firing simulated weapons at simulated targets), and had a feeling of pride at how _well_ he was doing. He was as smooth as he'd ever been, and considering the A.I. wasn't assisting his aim, his accuracy was very decent. When they finally finished training a few weeks from now, he was sure to be rewarded with his own suit.

* * *

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

** PSI-CLASS COSMIC NAVY TRANSPORT SHIP  
EN ROUTE TO UNDEVELOPED TERRESTRIAL COLONY SB-522,687,13**

According to Justin's superiors, all of the ships taking the Mechanized Infantrymen down to the planet were designed to maximize interior volume and streamlined for atmospheric entry. Another way of putting that is that they were incredibly small and cramped. This was even worse in the case of those ships transporting infantrymen with FPEs like Justin because all the soldiers were forced to crowd into the end of the ship not filled up by their suits, making the condition of being strapped down for planetary entry an even more uncomfortable one. But while they remained in space, it was still quite quiet and allowed the infantrymen to engage in some light conversation to pass the time. Justin Bailey didn't expect to be included in this activity, so he was surprised when one of the people next to him began talking with him.

"Hey Bailey, what is it going to be like down there?" the slender, pale young man with blond hair and pink eyes said.

"Oh, I don't really know ta' tell you the truth," Justin replied, taken somewhat off guard. "I don't imagine any of us does, 'cept for what was in the briefs. It's got a lotta' plants and water and stuff, which makes it good for smuggling and whatnot. Space Pirates came in, the Cosmic Navy set up in orbit and blasted all the pirate ships and major camps a few years ago. We're 'sposed ta' join the other MI units already on the planet to smoke out all the pirates who got trapped on the surface so the 'digenous population can resume trade with the rest of the Federation. I guess it's gonna' be mostly small squads and engagements for us 'til we finish the pirates off."

"Well yes," the infantryman said, obviously annoyed but doing his best to hide it. "I listened to briefs, too, but I'm asking you what it's like to be on a planet, period. I've never been. You see, I've spent my entire life in space as a Platformer."

"Right, right," Justin realized, stupidly. "That explains why you're so damn pale and your eyes are so funny."

"Ha ha, I suppose you could say that. But from my perspective, you're the peculiar-looking one. Not that I mean that as a pejorative," he added quickly.

"Yeah, well…" Justin could think of nothing to say back so he just changed the subject. "Hey, what was your name again?"

"I'm Private Ostro. Peter, rather."

"Were you from barracks 9IX-K, too?"

"No, I was in 4IV-L."

"Huh" Justin grunted. "So, how the hell did you know my name?"

He coughed. "I heard some of the other fellows talking about you."

"Oh," Justin said. He paused a moment, "What, uh, what were they sayin'?"

"Nothing important," said Peter, awkwardly. "Anyway, it appears you're the only colonial terrestrial on this transport so I wondered if you could tell me anything about what it's like to be in a natural sun and feel natural gravity on a wild planet like this. I experienced the simulations like everyone else, but I expect that there are some discrepancies…" he stopped once he saw the blank expression on Justin's face, "I expect that there are some… 'differences' between reality and simulation. You're the best source I have to get a heads up on what I'm getting myself in to."

Justin thought a moment.

"Well sure the stuff on Tenga didn't feel the same as Kal'on did, but I don't know what ta' tell you, honestly. Alright, real light feels heavier than the other stuff, if that makes sense. Like, you can actually feel it touching you. Same with gravity. It's just... thicker or somethin'. On Tenga, everything was so damn… clean. Stee-rile."

"'Stee-rile'?"

"Uh, stare- sterile? Yeah, sterile. Back on Kal'on, it was filthy. The air, the dirt, the smells—they just had more substance, more realness. You knew they were all there. Sure, Tenga was nice, but it was nice in a fake sorta way."

"So you're telling me that I'm about to get a crash-course in reality, then?"

"Hell, I don't know what I'm telling you. Boy, I-"

"Sorry?" Peter raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by calling me 'boy' just now?"

"I don't mean nothin' by it. Goddamn, it's just somethin' people say some times. Shit. Can't even have a decent conversation with you guys, I swear."

"This is wonderful," Peter said, laughing. "Even though we're of the same species, speak the same language, and have the same basic society, occasionally our subtle discrep- our subtle _differences_ in dialect, vocabulary and culture can cause complete misunderstandings."

"And that's wonderful, huh?"

"Well for me it is. You see, I'd like to be an author some day. Topics like this interest me immensely."

"If you want to write stuff, that's your own damn business but if that's the truth, what in the devil are you doin' in the MI? This is the pretty much best thing I could do with my own self but you're a pretty smart guy from the sound a' things. You could've found somethin' else for sure."

"Of course I could have. But what right would I have to write about wars and the service if I didn't experience it for myself? Writing about the military without being in it is disrespectful of those who actually serve."

"Whatever man, it's your life."

The infantryman named Peter didn't say anything back, but even if he'd tried, the roar of tearing into the atmosphere would have drowned it out. Justin was glad he didn't have to continue the conversation as he was trying his best to concentrate on not pissing himself. He'd gone _out_ of a planet once before when he'd left Kal'on and traveled in both directions numerous times in simulation, but real entry was different from simulation. If the ship's A.I. didn't account for some sudden change and the pilot wasn't attentive enough to correct it, he wouldn't just get to go back to his bunk and try again. If that happened right now, there wouldn't even be ash left of him to identify. The realness of the situation added a whole new dynamic of fear that he'd never known before, one that threatened to make him physically ill. No longer was the environment a product of controlled variables where mistakes were learning opportunities. Now, a mistake was just a mistake, and there were consequences for it.

But the ship did eventually reach the ground safely at the place it was supposed to, near the edge of a base where the thick vegetation of the area had been cleared away for Naval landings. Justin breathed a deep sigh of relief, and the sergeant in the transport gave them all the okay to unstrap and depart. They eagerly complied and piled out of the narrow exits one by one, leaving the FPEs behind until the mechanics could get a chance to look them over for problems a last time. Mechanized Infantrymen would be expected to do that themselves in the field, but it was best to let specialists take care of it while on base.

Justin was right next to one of the Naval ship's exits and though he wanted to get outside as much as everyone else, he let Peter go in front of him as a courtesy for talking with him during the trip there. Peter smiled and nodded to acknowledge the kindness, then stepped out to his greet his first real direct sunlight.

His head burst as soon as the light touched him, and he fell limply back into the transport, suddenly no longer an infantryman or aspiring author but a heap of worthless flesh. For a moment Justin thought that the poor Platformer had actually fallen victim to the rays of the planet's sun. Then the report of a gunshot echoed in Justin ears, and he began to get an idea of what was going on. He threw himself on the floor, away from the exit, while he waited for it all to be over. His stomach, which had so bravely held its contents during the trip to the planet, now quivered and emptied itself on the floor in front of him. Justin didn't begrudge it in the slightest, and he didn't think anyone else would him.

Hours later in an assembly, Justin would be informed by a lieutenant that the sniper had managed to kill five infantrymen and wound three others before being successfully neutralized by return fire. Justin's squad was to move out first thing tomorrow in search of whatever larger enemy might be operating in the jungle, but for tonight, they were to get plenty of food and rest.

In all, it was a pretty quiet day for the Mechanized Infantry. It only recorded twenty-nine casualties on the colony, eighteen due to enemy attack, the rest due to friendly fire and accidents.


	4. On This Earth Or Any Other

**LATER THAT NIGHT**  
**UNDEVELOPED TERRESTRIAL COLONY SB-522,687,13  
BASE CAMP RAM WOLF PRIME**

The barracks was sweltering hot, even with all the temperature regulators straining with mechanical effort, and therefore loud, although Justin Bailey was sure no one but him was still awake. The room practically shook with soldiers snoring and stank with the bodies of too many men crammed on top of one another, sweating. He couldn't have slept if he'd tried. Despite knowing he'd need rest for the excursion tomorrow, he wasn't trying. Some part of him knew that should he close his eyes and go to sleep, he'd never open them again.

He stared at the ceiling, waiting for the moment when the mortar shell would come through it and directly onto him, lying on the top bunk. A roar and blinding light then nothing ever ever. Jesus.

Private Peter Ostro. Twenty years old. Dead before he even got off the ship.

So Justin had done well to make it as far as he did, to lie in this bunk so far from home where he would surely die. He had a wife. Jenny was going to have a daughter. She'd sent him a message letting him know that, and should have had it by now. Soon they'd get a lump sum in substitute for his safe return, and they'd probably use it to get off planet. She'd remarry — well, if she got the weight off and still had the looks for it. Justin's daughter would grow up on a platform somewhere, poor probably, but pale enough to see her blue veins and almost certainly without an accent. She'd get a nice job, or a normal one. And traveling in space wouldn't be her sole aspiration; it would be part of her life. The more he thought, the more he realized it was really the best thing for everyone: he, lying there awaiting the mortar; Jenny and his infant daughter awaiting their check and freedom. All he had to do was die.

Fuck.

Justin felt something twist in his stomach and burn toward his throat. He swung himself off the bunk and rapidly slapped his naked feet on the linoleum floor over to the bathroom, keeping a hand over his mouth as his cheeks filled with small bits of dinner but mainly bile. He got to a toilet and puked and coughed and hacked, as quietly as he could, but too loud.

"I win, I win," someone whispered from the barracks. "I told you he'd be the one."

"Fuck off," someone else said back. "He isn't dead yet."

"First one to blow chunks is always first to bite it. Never fails," a third chimed in.

"Ha! You see?"

"We'll see tomorrow. I won't pay till then."

They didn't say anything else as Justin washed his mouth out in the sink and walked slowly back to his bunk. Climbing up the ladder, he felt someone grab his leg.

"Don't worry about them," the young, broad-shouldered man in the middle bunk said in a low voice at Justin. "They don't mean anything by it. It's just a way to pass time. Keeps you from getting attached to the new arrivals if they, well, if they don't make it."

"I know," Justin said. "But thanks for lettin' me know, anyhow."

"Hey, the secret to getting by out here is just to keep your head down and your eyes open. If you got someone looking out for you out in the shit, you've got as good a chance as anyone to make it back safe."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." A pause. "Look, you seem like an all right kid. Tomorrow, stick close to me and I'll keep an eye on you," the man in the middle bunk said. Justin smiled and started to thank him but the man started to rub Justin's leg with the back of his hand. "For tonight, just climb in here next to me and give my dick a good suck, hmm?"

Justin stared at him in the darkness, trying to remember who it was that was under him and trying to process what had just been asked.

"Bless the Goddess, he's actually thinking about it! Holy shit, I can't believe it," the man cackled, and a symphony of suppressed snickers from surrounding bunks followed. Justin scowled and finished climbing back into his bed. "We'd better make sure this guy makes it back. This queer could be the battalion's greatest cocksucker!"

And lying in bed, Justin somehow got to sleep after that, finding the prospect of a mortar landing on him no longer so uninviting.

* * *

The next day, Justin rose with everyone, showered, dressed and went to the mess hall, where no one said anything more about the night before. It might have been a nightmare but the scheduled proceedings of the waking day were far worse and horrifying. A trip into the bush, an excursion into the unknown.

He went through the food line and sat down at a table with the other new arrivals, digging into the specially engineered but thoroughly tasteless protein and carbohydrates without a word. Almost none of the people around Justin spoke either. But the veterans did.

The veterans of the Mechanized Infantry were nothing like the soldiers and officers who'd trained the fresh recruits up to this point. They complained constantly at everything — the food, the building they were housed in, the Cosmic Navy, and loudest of all at the latest batch of _useless faggots_ the Galactic Federation had sent down to die and get everyone else killed, too.

And while they complained about the idiocy of every (remote) commander and the pointlessness of the whole mission, if it could be called such, they never complained about actually going out to do their jobs. That was the continually amazing thing. They looked forward to going out and looking for an enemy they bore no real malice toward, in order to protect a people for whom they felt little more than contempt, feeling everything they did was an utter waste, but what they did was taken as an absolute. They would risk their lives and possibly not come back and there was no point in thinking anything more about it. Or at least saying it out loud.

Death of any veteran Infantryman was spoken only in abstract. Justin found out later to speak such a thing was considered almost a hex, a death sentence. Endless anecdotal tales served as testimony, but in spite of that, veterans discussed in extensive detail how they thought each of the new arrivals would die. Sniped, exploded by tik mine, pierced by tree trap, y-axis missile, or something different entirely. Maybe even fragged by one of the longtimers, if the newbs fucked up badly enough.

A great deal of the conversation centered on Private P. Ostro, specifically whether his death prior to getting off the transport ship nullified all wages or if, because he hadn't gotten off the ship, his death should be irrelevant. For the sake of having something still to bet on, the veterans reached consensus that since no one had had a chance to pick Ostro, the competition hadn't properly started and the wagers should proceed based on those remaining.

Burl Joone was one of the numerous planetside veterans to attain the Specialist rank and operate a powered exoskeleton full time. He had been in the bunk under Justin and thought for sure the backwoods colonist was the dumbest, most cowardly and helpless of all the new recruits.

"I put my week's pay on Bailey," Joone said. Justin looked up and Joone smiled, pointing a finger at him and firing the trigger of his thumb while winking.

"Ah, but that's always your mistake, innit?" Carly Leath said, bringing Joone's attention back to his own table. Leath was also a Specialist but wore only a halfsuit, like most support personnel. "The dumb ones are too stupid to know when they're supposed to die."

"That must be why you're still with us, huh, Leath?" Joone said.

They both grinned then guffawed.

"Ostro wanted to write a book," Justin said, aloud and not knowing why he'd done it. The laughter stopped.

"What did you say?" Joone asked.

Justin looked up and blinked.

"Peter. The ol' boy who got his head blown off 'fore he even stepped outside. He wanted to be a writer."

"Yeah? And what's your point?"

Most other people had stopped talking. Justin shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't know him, really. But he's dead and he wanted to be a writer, is all. But I let him go out the door aheada me, so he died and I'm still here. I ain't ever gonna write nothin. But I'm here jus the same."

Justin shrugged again and went back to eating. A moment passed of almost complete silence, then another. Then the veterans burst into laughter.

"Well, I forfeit my money. Joone obviously won this round," private first class Cole Ersor said. "Or he's going to. Obviously."

"Obviously," Leath agreed. "This is why I've said we need a draft for what is it, five tours now? Goddamned _volunteers_."

With that, all of the veterans, themselves once volunteers, hooted and jeered one another, in good humor.

* * *

**TWO DAYS LATER**

**'MALIBU' VALLEY**  
**UNDEVELOPED TERRESTRIAL COLONY SB-522,687,13**

The company walked through valley of neon vegetation, impossibly wild and verdant, glowing dimly with every color the eye could see but even more gorgeous under an infrared or ultraviolet filter — and in all likelihood hiding some one or thing trying to kill them.

Technically, there weren't any plants here; several billion years of unrelated evolution had produced specie unrelated to what Humans defined as "plant." But few soldiers cared even to dabble as biologists, so these "plants" were referred to without vocal quotations and served the same function for the large, but not especially dense colony planet known as Hale's Depot or simple "Hale"; the origin of the name was a mystery.

The terrain would have been an impossible thing to Justin but months ago, before he had seen all manner of impossible thing and told it was a matter of course for many. For the natives, he realized faintly, even all this was normal, though.

Locked in a rotation about its own axis that was almost exactly the same as the revolution about its sun, half of Hale basked in light all the time, while the other stayed in near total darkness. That had been the situation for at least the past one-and-a-half billion years, and for the last 100 million years or so, there had been only one, magnificent continent, running lengthwise about its equator, nearly into itself from the other side. Life existed under water at the poles and in the dark region under its permafrost desert and icecap, but it was nothing compared to the sunny continent, powered perpetually by that great solar battery. All the flora grew gigantic, killed as often by bursting open or snapping under its own weight as choked by some rival vine or chewed up by some voracious burrowing thing. There were also lands of dune and taiga, a long band of grassy steppe with stalks as huge as a goodly tree, and some mountains too poor in mineral to allow growth except intermittently, but most of the population lived in the rainy, rainbowy jungle. Therefore, most of the military bases were there as well, looking like toy models and fighting the encroaching, mindless growth more regularly than the named enemy.

Space Pirates were the named enemy, but even company commander Nichua Tower admitted they were rarely seen and he had interacted with Zebesians only a handful of times during the entire course of the engagement. It wasn't their way, Second Lieutenant Ruce Volante had further explained to the company's latest reinforcements before they set out two days before. Pirates struck quickly when they had an advantage or when someone was defenseless and ran away again.

"For the past four years, the Pirates have not had a major base aboveground, or any real presence at all," Lieutenant Volante said. "We do not have reason to think they had any working oceanic or polar bases, and the dark portion of the continent is regularly patrolled without fear of anything but the local fauna. On the other hand, the subterranean activities of the Zebesians continue to be prodigious, if primitive. And large numbers of the indigenous population either favor them, or cooperate with both sides as it suits them.

"Our main foe," he continued as his fingers manipulated a thin, waist high device," is the native Jenecio themselves."

Four rows deep, Justin strained to better see, but the hologram quickly rose to be within eyesight for everyone. A muscular, olive-skinned humanoid female wearing nothing but a loincloth and horned headdress woven into her hair towered above them all. Her chin, right breast and left forearm bore ornate tattoos; her eyes were dark brown with yellow, staring intently at something unseen. The left hand also had a glove of four sharp claws that would look like decorative jewelry unless they were scraping across your throat. She looked about 1.7 meters tall, and gorgeous, fiercely gorgeous. With her, no taller than her hip, a small blue humanoid, bald and almost unhealthily thin, hugged her thigh with his eyes closed. He wore no clothing whatsoever, so his genitals were recognizable enough. Nearby, another such blue child squatted, resting his elbows on his knees behind the female, gazing unconcerned in the same direction as she.

"What you're looking at is an adult Jenecio female, and two adult males," Volante said. "Yes, it's on one-to-one scale. And again, those are adult males. The sexual dimorphism of this species is highly pronounced, so don't let it fool you. The women give birth to five-to-eight times as many males as females and seem to be unconcerned with how many sons they lose. The daughters are another story.

"Your sergeants and corporals will brief you better on their particular habits and predilections. The point is, when you see either one of these approaching you, assume they're a hostile. If they don't behave as they're supposed to, you protect yourselves. Your lives are worth a lot to us – and so is the training and equipment we gave you. It's your mission to get you and your brothers through each day safely, on this earth or any other."

Now, as the company made its way through the jungle in search of little blue men and haughty brown amazons, Justin was doing his best to do just that. He took a step, trying to match the giant footprints the exoskeletons ahead of him had left. He was close, but in avoiding a large root he didn't get the metal boot down to quite the right spot. His helmet's audio sensors were very precise, but he could have sworn he heard the sound with his own ears.

Click.

He froze, as did everyone around him. Through his audio, he heard a very unnecessary command from his lance corporal.

"Do _not_ move, soldier. Do you hear me?"

Two days earlier ahead of their first excursion, Platoon Sergeant Rory Dalime stood in front of them, holding a small, primitive looking mechanical object. He squeezed it and released it, squeezed it _and released it._

_C_lick-tik.

Click. Tik.

Click… Tik.

"This is the sound you need to listen for, and it's very important. It is the most important sound you will ever hear, more important than your mother's voice. More important than the sound of your old lady's moan when you know she's about to cum."

They all laughed, but Sgt. Dalime didn't. More importantly, neither did Lieutenant Volante. The laughter died out quickly and Dalime continued.

"I'm holding the detonator to a 'tik mine.' When you hear the sound 'click-tik,' you will likely not hear anything else after. When this is hooked up to a large, conventional bomb buried in the ground, there will be a powerful explosion in your immediate vicinity. If you were the lucky one to step on the mine, you'd better hope you're lucky enough to have it kill you because, you won't have a legs or anything resembling a cock afterward, get it?"

"Sir, yes, sir," they answered, with rote enthusiasm.

"However, if you hear a 'click,' " Dalime demonstrated, "stay where you are. The charge is set by the decompression, not the compression. Listen to what I just said: _the charge is set by the decompression_. As long as you stand where you are, you'll be OK, and more importantly, you'll give your brothers time to move away. We don't know why they haven't used compression or timed or remote charges yet. They very well may at some point. But whatever you do, do not let anyone be around you to hear the—." Dalime let go and the device finished the sentence for him.

So intent was Justin in not letting the sentence finish in the present that it took him a moment to move within his suit safely and answer.

"Sir," Justin croaked. But he didn't move.

Second Lt. Volante ordered the platoon to hold, although most of those who were near Justin already had. Volante relayed the message to the first lieutenant, and the rest of the company adjusted accordingly. From the base, automated mine sweepers made another pass through the valley and an additional Specialist came back toward Justin's platoon. But Dalime ordered the rest of the platoon to proceed forward or backward in one another's footsteps as quickly and safely as possible, and soon only Sgt. Dalime was in shouting distance of Justin.

"I'm awful sorry, sergeant, sir," Justin said.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, solider. It's not your fault. It could just as easily be me standing where you are, God knows," Dalime said. "Listen, Private Bailey. I'm not going to tell you that everything is going to be OK, because I can't promise that. But we aren't giving up on you. I need you to keep your head on straight."

"Sir, yes, sir," Justin said, as enthusiastically as he could.

Dalime explained the solution, although Justin hardly heard it. In the food stores were protein rations divided into 50 kilogram portions for bulk carrying. Justin weighed a little less than 75 kilograms, so one and a half rations should be able to replace his weight as he carefully, gradually climbed out. Dalime would have an additional blast shield in front of him while he brought the rations over to Justin and helped him climb out and on to the sergeant's own exoskeleton. Justin would certainly die if the tik mine went off during the transition, but staying there, he could hope for little more than being irreparably maimed.

"Do you think it can actually work, sir?" Justin asked as the first ration was delivered and a corporal efforted diligently to cut the second in half.

"I wouldn't be trying to get you out if I didn't, private," Dalime answered.

"If it don't though. I mean, if I— if this is the end, can you do me a favor?"

"I can try."

"Sir, can you tell my daughter her Pa loved her and wanted her to do something with her life, offa Kal'on?" He was crying now, but quietly.

"Of course." Dalime received the cut piece and began to carry them toward Justin. "But I'd rather you tell herself, and concentrate on helping me with that. Now be very—"

Justin heard and explosion, and thought he was certainly dead. But following the thought came the realization that having it was proof of its invalidity, and a moment after that he realized it was the rest of the platoon under attack.

"Stay, stay!" Dalime radioed everyone now, no longer just him. All of the veterans remained where they were, crouching. Several recruits, instincts favoring the weeks of training they'd received previously to the recent days of advice, did not listen to Dalime in the moment, and moved to find suitable cover under some large, bright yellow husks that had fallen over and hardened. It was a good, standard tactic for a Mechanized Infantryman under attack, on an orbital platform or some other terra. But not here.

_"Often the enemy will engage you on the move when you are out in the open, and catch you in a vulnerable position under his fire,"_ Justin remembered Dalime saying._ "You must stay as you are. You are more likely to find a mine than safety behind cover."_

An explosion shook the ground, and the shockwave started setting off other several other explosions that shook loose pieces of the top most layer, burdened by their own stupendous girth. Snapping branches the size of signal poles landed with a crash nearby, and a piece of someone's torso rolled in front of Justin's foot, ID tags reading: Private First Class C. Ersor.

"Jesus, Jesus, Jesus," he said, but all the time he kept his mind on _the compression, not the decompression_.

Unmanned gyros whooshed overhead, blocked from sight by the overhanging lushness as they rushed from the nearby base to their target. Moments later, light began to shove its way through the leaves and branches, then the roar came followed by a wind that shook everything even more. Then there were no more explosions.

Justin looked to see what had become of Sgt. Dalime, and saw him standing to his suit's full height once again. Orders began coming through to identify yourself and list any injuries, if possible. This engagement had resulted in 18 casualties: five dead, 13 wounded. On the other end, 30 to 35 native hostiles had been killed as they lobbed bombs at the convoy, and Mechanized Infantrymen had killed one spotter while wounding and capturing another.

Justin found all that out later. At present, he was still concerned with the more pressing matter of keeping his foot pressed down. That was, until Dalime looked at him, looked down at Justin's foot, then back up at Justin.

"So that's why they missed it," Dalime finally said. He unleashed and torrential, but quiet string of curses, then laughed bitterly. "You can move as normal, Bailey. If that was an active tik-mine, we'd both be dead now."

Justin looked down and saw his footprint no longer where he'd tried so hard to keep it through all the battle's maelstrom. The bomb was either a dud or intended to be a distraction the whole time.

Medics arriving and already assigned were treating the wounded based on their suit's triage determination, and preparing them for transport back to base or farther still. But everyone still able to move was preparing to move forward once again, Justin included.

"So, what now, sir?" Bailey asked, doing his best to re-form in proper position.

Dalime didn't acknowledge him at first, and when he did he sounded tired.

"Now we pay the nearest village a visit, and we have a pleasant conversation with them about all this."

* * *

_Author's note: With very minor liberties taken, the description for the 'Jenecio' come from Jeremy Enecio's work 'Tribal Tech.' Very cool, but tastefully not work safe fantasy/sci-fi paintings. Check them out, buy a print if you see something you like._


End file.
